‘You know for us Gypsies, family comes before everything. We may squabble and feud among ourselves, but against the outside world, we are always united. When the Nazis came for us, here in ’44, in the neighbouring countries much earlier, the families refused to be divided when they arrived at the camps. Mothers and fathers, they would not let the Germans separate them from their children. They fought, they screamed, they cursed, even on the ramp where Mengele did his selections. Sometimes the mothers attacked the Nazis by hand, scratching at their faces, gouging at their eyes. So the Nazis let them live together, in a special family camp. There was even a Gypsy uprising in Auschwitz. Who knew? Did you know?’
Karoly shook his head. ‘No, I did not hear about that.’
‘That was in May 1944. They attacked the SS with stones and sticks. For a while the Nazis left them alone. Then in August, they gassed everyone, almost three thousand people.’ He paused. ‘Including some of my relatives.’
Karoly said, ‘We all lost people in the war.’
‘Some families more than others, Mr Bardossy. But you are wondering why I am telling you all of this. This is why.’ Balthazar paused. ‘If something happens to Flora, or her gallery, the same will be visited on you and your home – but multiplied many times. This lovely house will go up in flames. You might be in it when it does. I’m the only cop in my family. The rest of my relatives don’t worry about laws. They run District VIII. They have an army to call on. Our family, and all the other families. There are hundreds of us. We have codes and we live by them. Family first, before everything. In the camp at Auschwitz in 1944, or on Brody Sandor Street now. And we believe in vengeance. We’re very good at it; we’ve been practising for centuries. You – and your business – won’t know what hit you. Oh, it might take a few weeks, or months. Even a year or two. But you will never be able to sleep soundly again, or step outside without looking over your shoulder. One day we will come for you and we will find you.’ Balthazar turned to look at Porter, ignoring the bolt of pain that shot up his back. ‘Even with a legion of Porters. He won’t be able to save you. Or himself.’
Balthazar paused. ‘Now tell me why I am here.’
Karoly sit very still for several seconds, swallowed, then asked, ‘Where is the Israeli?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Aren’t you looking for him?’
‘Yes. But I didn’t find him yet. Why do you care?’
Karoly blinked slowly, seemed to gather his strength. ‘This is how it’s going to work, Detective. You are going to call your friend Anastasia. She is going to send over the memory stick that you found with your neighbour, dear Eva neni.’ He paused. ‘Yes, that memory stick. The one you took to Falk Miksa Street where whatshername, Bibi, Vivi, whatever, decrypted it. Once I have that, you are free to leave.’
Balthazar rapidly processed what he had heard. Bardossy had someone on the inside at Falk Miksa. In fact it would be surprising if he did not. Nobody could run a business empire in Hungary the size of his without a powerful network of contacts across every sector of the establishment, including the security service. ‘I don’t know what you are talking about,’ Balthazar said.
‘I think you do,’ said Karoly. ‘And in case you need a reminder, here it is.’ He picked up the A4 envelope, opened it and handed several photographs to Balthazar. He leafed through them. Each shot was of Eva neni, walking in and out of the apartment building on Dob Street, chatting with her friends in the park on Klauzal Square, shopping in the market hall nearby.
Karoly sneered, ‘Your Gypsy army will go to war for you or your sister, Flora. Or for Alex.’
Balthazar jerked upright at the mention of his son’s name. Karoly held his hands up. ‘Don’t worry. I don’t threaten kids. Especially such well-connected ones. I don’t want the Americans on my back. But I don’t think District VIII will rise up over an elderly Jewish lady, even if she is your neighbour. Look outside, it’s winter. It’s a nice clear night tonight, but we have weeks of snow and ice ahead. One slip, an accidental nudge from a passer-by in a hurry. What a shame to survive the Holocaust, then perish on a slippery pavement.’
This time Balthazar let the red mist descend. He knew he had one chance to take both men down. He needed Karoly out of reach and Porter well within reach. This was it and his fury drove him.
‘You fucker. You piece of shit,’ he snarled, as he slid towards Karoly. ‘Threatening an old lady.’
Karoly jumped out of his chair and stepped away, his alarm turning to fear.
At the same time, Porter leapt forward towards Balthazar, his fists raised. Sensing Porter behind him, Balthazar clenched his right fist, whirled around and aimed a side hammer punch at Porter’s groin.
His plan was that Porter would fall forward in pain. Balthazar would then rain more blows down on the back of his head and neck without having to waste time trying to stand up, slam his face into the table, then grab the whisky decanter and break it over his head. Once Porter had collapsed he could take his gun, knock Karoly out or shoot him in the leg and escape.
It was a decent plan and might have worked, had Balthazar not taken several hard punches, been hurled around in a car crash, wrenched a muscle in his back, staggered out of the car and been gassed with a knockout spray.
The side of his fist connected with Porter’s groin, but his fury and adrenalin weren’t enough and his arm moved too slowly.
Porter stepped sideways at the moment of impact. Balthazar felt him wince but he absorbed part of the blow in his thigh. He ignored the pain and moved back in.
A second later his right arm was around Balthazar’s neck in a chokehold against his carotid artery, his left arm locking it in place. It was a deadly technique that cut off the blood supply to the brain. Unconsciousness would follow in a few seconds.
Balthazar grabbed Porter’s wrist with his right hand, trying to break the stranglehold while his left flailed at Porter’s eyes.
Porter ignored the blows, tightened his grip.
Balthazar reached forward for the glass in front of him on the table. He grabbed the glass and swung it at Porter’s face, but his strength was fading by the second.
Porter released his left hand and blocked the glass with no difficulty, then locked it back in place.
Porter’s arms felt like two steel bars. Daggers of pain shot down Balthazar’s neck and back. His breathing turned ragged and shallow.
The room turned murky. Balthazar felt his limbs go weak.
The glass slipped from his hand.
Karoly said, ‘OK, Porter. Stop now. He’s not a threat any more.’
Porter tensed his arm muscles once more, increasing the pressure for a fraction of a second, then released Balthazar. He fell forward on the chair, coughing and wheezing, the room dark and spinning.
Karoly sat back down, smiled at Porter. ‘Thank you, Porter. Very nice work. Our friend was getting a bit emotional, it seems. Now then, Detective. Needs must. Get me that memory stick.’
Balthazar slowly sat back, panting and coughing. After several seconds the room stabilised. He tried to speak but at first the words would not come. He swallowed, tried again. ‘Everything on it is digitised. They will have copies.’
Karoly shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter. We are living in the post-truth era. I just need to know what’s there. Then I can learn from my niece’s example. Nationwide has a substantial communications department, as you can imagine – with plenty of tame journalists. We will launch a pre-emptive strike, like Reka did, explain how we are being targeted with a deepfake, show how easy it is to fabricate documents, take each one apart line by line. Nobody will believe anything once we are finished. We are good at rewriting history here, always have been. Now we have a new toolkit, it’s even easier.’
He smiled, poured himself some water, drank half the glass. ‘I should be grateful to my niece. At the start of the week almost nobody knew what a deepfake was. Now the whole country does. Of course, the irony is that her video wasn’t fake at all. It was completely genuine. But now nobody believes that. In fact people are sympathetic to her. Last time I looked her numbers were creeping back up. I’ve already talked to my communications people, explained there is a massive smear campaign coming, against me, against the firm, a tissue of lies and fabrications all reaching back to the war. Another deepfake. We’re all ready to go.’
Karoly leaned forward. ‘Now get me the memory stick. Once it’s here, you can go home.’
THIRTY-NINE
Remetehegyi Way, 10.45 p.m.
